Nine Lives
by meeshiefeet
Summary: Takes place after Episode 4.8 "Too Far Gone" Caryl fic. * A bolt of recognition hit her and she choked back his name before it came to her lips, not daring to make a sound. He'd found her. He'd been looking for her and he'd found her … here. "Be careful what you wish for…" she thought as moved into action. She needed to reach him before they noticed.
1. All The World's A Stage

Carol stared down at the slowly approaching car. Crouching behind the short parapet along the edge of the roof, she made herself as invisible as possible. Being on her own had been difficult, not just because of walkers, but also because she trusted no one. The living were far more dangerous than the dead these days. She squinted against the sun and intentionally slowed her breathing as the car pulled into the gas station about 50 yards from her.

The driver-side door opened and a male figure stepped carefully onto the pavement. A bolt of recognition hit her and she choked back his name before it came to her lips, not daring to make a sound. He'd found her. He'd been looking for her and he'd found her … here. "Be careful what you wish for…" she thought as she moved into action. She needed to reach him before they noticed.

This area was teeming with diseased walkers, but they were only the tip of the iceberg. Just yesterday she'd witnessed the local group of survivors savagely murder a young family who had the misfortune of finding this town. The locals wanted supplies, of course, but they also enjoyed the massacre. It was their entertainment. Their sport. They were holed up in an armory on the outskirts of town, and they had no qualms about making use of the weapons they had found inside. No qualms about torturing and killing the unlucky who wandered into their domain, either.

She glanced toward the fortified stone building apprehensively. If they were out on their usual patrols, they'd spot the new vehicle in minutes. She silently scrambled over to the roof hatch, climbed down a series of ladders and landed softly backstage. This old theater was a good hiding spot for someone on her own. The roof offered a relatively safe place to keep tabs on the living, and the dead struggled with the ladders. When a patrol entered the building a few days earlier, none of them thought to look up to the catwalks above the stage as they checked every nook and cranny below. Carol took no chances, though. She had camouflaged the tiny lighting platform that served as her refuge with backdrop curtains to make it blend in with the rest of the stage rigging. Nobody would find her unless they climbed, and then they'd be in for a hell of a fight.

She had made a habit of creeping onto the roof for a few minutes each morning and evening, to check on the state of things and plan her supply runs. The rest of the day she would sleep, saving her energy for venturing into the darkness, when the patrols were far less frequent. She found it surprisingly easy to sleep now that she had nothing to lose. Her rest had always been fitful in the past, even before the world went to hell. The tiniest noise used to startle her awake. But now she found herself slumbering peacefully for hours at a time, vivid dreams playing out in her mind. Not unexpectedly, some of those dreams were nightmares, but most brought a smile when she woke. She often dreamt of Lizzie and Mika, singing silly songs or picking flowers. Once they were with Sophia, playing hopscotch in the courtyard.

Another dream featured Glenn, Maggie and Beth throwing a birthday party for Judith. That was her favorite, because everyone from her prison family was there, sharing a cake she had managed to bake in a rig made of terra cotta pots. She could see all their beaming faces ... Sasha, Michonne and Hershel applauding as Rick and Carl helped Judith blow out her candle. Tyreese holding Lizzie and Mika high in the air so they could see better. And Daryl, standing off to the side licking leftover icing off his fingers.

Every time she drifted to sleep, she hoped she could return to that celebration, full of love and joy and family. It hadn't come back to her, but still, she had the memory of it. Even if it wasn't real, it was something to cling to in her isolation. Something to focus her mind on in the silence.

* * *

><p>Daryl did a quick 360 and started down the street, crossbow at the ready. He spotted a small cluster of walkers in an alleyway, feeding on rats, and quietly slinked past them. The broken storefront windows gave him a view inside each building without needing to enter, so he decided to do a sweep of the whole street before checking the individual structures.<p>

He moved stealthily past a handful of buildings before spotting movement in the post office ahead. More walkers were feeding, this time on humans. Their meal hadn't been dead long. He paused and studied what he could see of the dead woman's clothing, half ripped away from her body. It didn't look familiar. Probably not Carol. She didn't have any clothes like that at the prison, but she could have picked up some new things in the months since he'd seen her. There was no way to be sure.

Muffled voices filtered into his consciousness and he spun toward them. They were male, and coming from a block over. He crossed the street toward them and crouched low, peering around the corner. Four men dressed in riot gear were walking along, having an animated conversation about sloppy seconds and debating who got to go first next time. A walkie crackled to life, the voice on the other end saying something about the gas station, causing the men to unholster their weapons.

Daryl ducked back around the corner, but at that moment, putrid hands grabbed at him and knocked his crossbow away. A walker had followed him from the post office, and he could see it had the sickness. He kicked it away and had almost reached his crossbow as a blade went through the back of the walker's head. A woman wearing a surgical mask yanked her knife out as the walker crumpled at her feet.

* * *

><p>Carol and Daryl locked eyes and held their gaze for a few fleeting moments. She pulled her mask down and put a finger to her lips to make sure he stayed quiet, waving for him to follow her. They needed to get out of sight as quickly as possible. She led Daryl in a path opposite the patrol and then lunged to her left and headed down an alley. They reached a heavy metal door that appeared to be closed, but a thin shim of wood wedged at the bottom had prevented its latching. She yanked open the door, grabbed the shim, and pulled him into the blackness inside. After closing the door gingerly so it made minimal noise as the lock bar engaged, he heard her fumble for something in her pocket. A tiny penlight came on and gave just enough light for him to make out her features. It struck him how much he'd missed her face, now that he was seeing it again. Before he could say anything, her big, blue eyes turned away from him, and she gestured for him to keep following.<p>

Moving quickly and quietly, she led him through a maze of hallways until the space around them opened up and he could no longer see the walls and ceiling in the feeble light. He followed as she climbed a ladder, then carefully navigated a catwalk to another one. At the top of the second ladder, she guided him to a small platform draped with heavy black curtains. She crawled into the makeshift shelter and he followed, barely making it inside before they heard the voices again. Carol flicked her penlight off, but instead of the finding themselves in darkness, the light intensified around them. Flashlights were beaming throughout the place and for the first time, Daryl could see some features of the space around them. They were in some sort of auditorium, and the men's voices below seemed to be everywhere at once, amplified by the acoustics of the architecture.

"Engine's still warm and they dropped a bleeder headin' this way. Gotta be close," a gruff, low voice boomed. Carol suppressed the nausea spreading through her stomach. She recognized that voice. Remembered the amusement in it when the family was tortured and butchered the day before. She tried closing her eyes, but when she did, all she could see was that bloody scene, so she opened them again and watched the flashlights scan around them. Her breath caught as one of the beams swung up toward the catwalks. It travelled slowly along the lower set, then moved up to the platform, where it lingered for a few seconds.

"Clear! Better try the clinic," yelled a second voice below them. She found her breath again and slowly exhaled. She was no longer afraid of walkers or even dying, but she knew better than to take on this group. Their viciousness made Ed look like a true gentleman in comparison. It had been pure luck that they hadn't noticed her walk into town, her life likely saved by her station wagon's snapped serpentine belt, lying brittle and tear-stained in the woods a few miles down the road.

The flashlights and voices moved toward the front doors as the group headed outside to check the other buildings. Carol and Daryl sat silently in the darkness, waiting until they were certain the men had left.

* * *

><p>After a few minutes in the pitch black, Carol began to wonder if Daryl was really next to her. She'd been on her own so long, could she have hallucinated the whole thing? Perhaps it was another dream. She hesitantly reached out and brushed his leg with her fingertips.<p>

"You okay?" he whispered low. A smile tugged the corners of her mouth as she realized she hadn't imagined him after all.

"Yes," she whispered back, her voice ragged from lack of use. She barely recognized it as her own. "Those men. They're monsters ... worse. I've been laying low for a couple weeks, trying to figure out how to get out of this place. Their patrols seem to be random - I just can't figure out the timing." She started to feel desperation, but pushed it down. She was strong. She would survive. And now she had Daryl beside her. Her desperation melted away. Maybe they could make it out this place. Maybe Rick would understand her motivations. Maybe she could join the others. Start again.

"Lizzie? Mika?" she asked. Daryl remained silent. Carol's chest grew heavy.

"Governor came back. Had a damn tank. With the sickness, we was outnumbered. Governor's dead, but the prison's no good anymore. Lost a lot of people ... lost Hershel. We got split up and I only found a few so far," he finally explained. "They mighta made it out, them girls. Beth couldn't find 'em so we don't know for sure. Just a small group of us now. Found a cabin. Been holed up there, gettin' back on our feet, lookin' for the others."

The news rocked her. She had worried her girls might be lost to the sickness. It was a shock to find out that madman had returned and orchestrated a slaughter, and now they were lost somewhere, or worse. Just like Sophia. But they weren't just like her daughter. She had made sure of that. It gave her a flicker of hope.

Her eyes grew tired in the darkness. Hershel dead. The others missing. It was too much, so she began to compartmentalize, mentally walling off these revelations for later. For now, she needed to focus on the gift that was Daryl finding her; she needed the comfort of his presence. Wanting to see his face again, she pulled out the penlight and switched it on. It slowly glowed to life and she watched him blink a few times to adjust. Weak as it was with its dying battery, the light was still jarring in the total darkness.

As her own eyes adjusted and he came into focus, she managed a weak smile. "I knew I'd see you again."

She moved nearer to him and brushed his hair out of his eyes, leaning in close to kiss his cheek. Daryl tensed slightly as a wave of conflicting feelings washed over him. Physical closeness was not something he usually found comfortable, but this was Carol. The reflex to jerk away faded as quickly as it had arisen, and he reached around her waist and drew her against his chest. He held her close for a minute, maybe more, until she shifted, settling on his lap and laying her head on his shoulder. Relief spread over him as he breathed in her familiar scent. The last time they were this close, he'd been carrying her from the tombs, grateful she was alive. This moment felt like an echo of that one ... the same closeness ... the same gratitude. He'd found her alive, again.

* * *

><p>Carol gave in to her fatigue and let her eyes close. Slipping into sleep, she absentmindedly stroked his arm, her fingertips skimming softly against his sun-weathered skin. Her touch sparked an almost electric hum in his chest. He reflexively flinched, rousing her just enough to make her realize what she was doing. She lifted her head and looked up at him, a slight blush in her cheeks. He stared back at her, torn between acting on the hum he was feeling and remaining controlled, rational, a warrior at the ready.<p>

She didn't give him a chance to decide, tilting upward toward him, grazing his lips with hers. When he didn't object, she laced her fingers around his neck and pulled him into another kiss ... long, lingering. Daryl felt an urgency creeping over him, and fought to keep it at bay. He was losing himself in unfamiliar territory. Not that he'd never been with women. When Merle wasn't doing a stretch at the state pen, he often used Daryl as a wingman at the raucous roadhouses they frequented. But this was different. Those flings were meaningless; he never even bothered to lie about wanting a phone number afterwards. But Carol. Carol was everything good about himself. He never had someone like that in his life. Everything he touched turned to shit and he wasn't about to let that happen with her. Unnerved, he put his hand on her shoulder and pressed her lightly away from him.

She surveyed his expression as he studied the railing, unable to meet her eye, confusion deepening the soft lines the years were tracing on his face. Not wanting to press him, she allowed him time and space to sort out his thoughts. His breathing was uneven and she felt his hand, still pressed against her shoulder, grasp at the fabric of her shirt, simultaneously pushing her away and pulling her close. "I ... you..." he started, but couldn't form a sentence.

"Us," she answered.

He turned and stared hard at her. "Us?" he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "No. Gettin' close to people, everythin' gets messed up. I ain't no good with..." he trailed off again.

"We are good. Together, we're good. After Sophia ... Merle. We've come back from the bad things, Daryl. We did that. We made it good again," she replied.

Her words flooded through him. She'd always seen him as the man he wanted to be, the man she had helped him become, even when he didn't see it himself. He tightened his grip on her shirt and pulled her back to him, startling her with the fierceness of his mouth against hers, his calloused hands moving rapidly to her jawline as she responded in kind.

Carol allowed herself the indulgence for a few precious seconds before slowing the pace, easing them back from what would have been the right thing at the worst possible time. She reluctantly began to lean away from him, whispering, "Sorry, Pookie."

"Stop," he replied low, giving her the half-smile he reserved only for her as he stroked her cheek with his thumb.

She beamed back at him, "Guess we need a plan." The odds were against them, but that was no different than any other day. They'd survive. They always had.

As the sun dipped low in the sky, they climbed to the roof and scouted the path they thought would be least visible to the patrols. Several plans and contingency plans later, they made their way to the stage door. Daryl shifted his crossbow and placed his free hand on the door to open it, but hesitated.

He turned back to her, straining to see her as the penlight sputtered through its last bit of battery. He cupped her face and leaned in, lightly kissing her forehead. "Stay safe," he whispered as low as he could.

Carol gently placed her hand on his and smiled. "Nine lives, remember?"

Daryl nodded, turned back to the door and pushed through.


	2. Sense Memory

_TRIGGER WARNING: attempted sexual assault, violence similar to the show_

_A/N: I do not own these characters. As of Episode 4.10 Inmates, this story is AU, but will follow canon as closely as possible. Special thanks to atoizzard for being a beta reader. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

><p>It took all of his willpower to push away the haze creeping into his vision. Though he couldn't discern the words through the ringing in his ears, he clearly understood the tap of the cold barrel against his temple. Stay conscious or they both die.<p>

Daryl was on his knees on the concrete floor, hands lashed behind his back. He concentrated on the zip tie tearing at his wrists, the bite of plastic teeth focusing his vision on her. He noticed a fresh welt swelling around the trickle of blood staining her cheek, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. She sat compliantly in a wooden chair, hands folded on her lap, appearing almost meditative as he knelt across from her. The red rimming her eyes was the only indication of discomfort while she endured a blond man cowering over her, toying with her hair.

"I asked you a question, asshole," the sentence filtered into his brain as his ears began to clear. "Where'd you get it?" the gunman growled, thrusting the barrel harder against his skull.

Carol's eyes met his and he remained mute. He didn't like what she had convinced him of earlier, but he trusted her. Everything had gone south when they were caught and they were out of options. He knew it was their only chance at making it out of here alive. Their last contingency plan.

"Screw you," Carol answered the man holding the gun to Daryl's head.

The gunman turned toward her with a cool expression. "Patience, darlin'. You'll get your chance soon enough," he replied stoically. She fought to keep her nerve as she noticed his eyes mirrored the cinderblock walls surrounding them. Cold, gray and … flat. The vacancy of emotion sent a chill through her. She could deal with anger and rage, had years of experience with that, but this…. She forced herself not to think about it.

"But since you're feelin' chatty, how 'bout you tell us where you got this?" he asked, holding up the semi-automatic pistol that matched his own.

They'd left the owner of that gun tied up in the back room of the post office, alive, but unconscious. She was certain the guy's luck had run out a while ago. If this pair hadn't been so wrapped up in making her watch as they beat Daryl within an inch of his life, they might have been able to save their friend. Carol shifted slightly in her chair and braced herself for what was coming. "Your man's breathin' … or he was an hour ago. Probably the midnight buffet right about now," she replied steadily, surprising herself with how casual she sounded.

The fingers in her hair seized and forced her head backwards as the blond man leaned in close, his rank breath smothering her. "I think we oughta teach this bitch to show a little respect, Smitty," he suggested, his anticipation making her skin crawl.

Daryl flinched, but the gun against his head kept him tethered to the spot. He took a breath to tamp back the adrenaline threatening to spread through his bloodstream. She was doing exactly what he had tried to talk her out of before. Exactly what she had spent years of her life with Ed trying to avoid. All that practice of smoothing things over before they got out of hand, and now she was turning that skill upside down, drawing the ire. Provoking.

He'd done that once too, the last time he saw his daddy. The smell of bourbon hung thick in the air and it hadn't taken much to poke the bear. He remembered the satisfaction he felt when he ducked the bottle aimed at his head. He could claim self-defense, if it ever came to that. The sheriff didn't much care for his family so an investigation probably wouldn't be at the top of the man's priority list.

He'd walked out the door that night with a bloody nose and bloody knuckles, cursing himself for his impulsive act. Sometimes he still wondered if he would change the way it ended if he could go back. He'd never forgiven himself for letting the son of a bitch live. He wouldn't make the same mistake with these bastards.

* * *

><p>Carol tried not to breathe too deeply. Even adapted to the stench of death, she felt sick from this man's breath in her face. The sense memory slammed into her and she was right back in one of Ed's fits of rage. But this wasn't Ed, and she couldn't let herself go there. Daryl was depending on her. She looked up at the man holding her head back and let a slow smile spread across her mouth. "Teach me respect? Like you could teach a woman anything," she whispered just loud enough for him alone to hear.<p>

He was crushing her with his body weight before her brain even registered the pain of impact with the hard floor. She yelped when his teeth tore at her lip and he forced his knee between her thighs.

"Don't even think about it," the gunman commanded Daryl as he turned to watch to the scene unfolding in front of him. "Alright, get it out of your system. I could use a little light entertainment before the main event."

Panic threatened to overtake her. She knew this would happen. Counted on it. But living it was far more difficult than she had anticipated. Her screams echoed off the walls before she could push the terrible flashbacks out of her mind, each bite and slap from the monster on top of her doubled with the weight of her past. She glimpsed Daryl and saw the pain etched into his features. She recognized that he was nearing the breaking point. The one where he would ditch the plan and just do something, anything, the way he used to do when they first met. That would mean the end for both of them, and she couldn't bear the thought. She forced herself to watch for an opportunity to make her move. It didn't take long. The blond reached down to rip at the button of her pants, and she flipped the scalpel out of the sleeve of her free arm.

The gurgling of air bubbles subsided almost immediately, but the blood continued to flow from his throat, the warmth of it soaking her arm and chest as she tried to catch her breath. She looked up to see the gun slip away from Daryl's head and take its aim at hers.

Daryl hurled his shoulder upward into the gunman's hip, sending them both crashing into the wall. The ringing returned to his ears and he lost his balance, his bound hands preventing him from catching himself before he hit the floor. A stabbing pain replaced the air in his lungs when the steel-toed boot made contact with his ribcage. But the burning pressure in his chest was quickly forgotten as the butt of the gun came down against his skull, rendering him unable to move. He desperately wanted to see her face one last time, to apologize for failing her, but the room was fading too quickly. He heard the shot and everything went black.

* * *

><p>The spray of the creek splashed his cheek as he leaned back, head resting on his arms under the shade of the pines. The smell of fresh earth surrounded him and he watched the treetops sway lazily in the breeze. The whoosh of the water over the rocks next to him was starting to lull him to sleep. He'd spent the day out in the woods, as usual. It was more of a home to him than that rickety old house had ever been. He would stay here forever if he could.<p>

Another splash hit him and he thought he heard something. Someone. There shouldn't be anyone for miles, but there it was again. A voice. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around for the source. The voice sounded frantic. She was in trouble. She needed him. A sudden, searing pain gripped him and he thought his head might split in two. The sunshine dissolved and he heard her again, clearly this time.

"Daryl! Daryl, wake up. Please wake up. Please." Another tear fell onto his cheek as she rocked back and forth, holding his head in her lap and begging him to hear her. Carol watched his eyes flutter open and close again. She balled up her fist and ground it against his sternum, eliciting a low growl. Relief washed over her when he responded to the pain. He was conscious. His eyes opened to slits and he grumbled, "What the hell? Tryin' to kill me or what?"

His sass caused a few more tears to fall from her eyes, but they were no longer shed in fear. He would be okay. He came back to her. "I could never," she replied, hoping he didn't notice the quiver that had slipped into her voice.

He opened his eyes fully and searched hers. The concussion hadn't made him any less observant. Then he remembered the shot. He thought his name was on that bullet, but the pain rolling through him wasn't from a gunshot. He gingerly sat up, letting Carol help him balance, and saw the man who took it. The thug who'd been holding the gun to his head was sprawled in front of him, eyes open and glassy. Her bloody handprint painted the grip of the stolen pistol next to him on the floor.

Carol stared down at her shirt, saturated and beginning to stick to her skin. Now that she knew Daryl was alright, she began to feel the impact of what had just happened. The metallic smell of blood was immediately overpowering, and she yanked the shirt over her head and threw it into the corner.

Daryl touched her shoulder, but she shrugged away from him. "I'm okay," she said, her voice lined with an unintentional edge. He shifted to face her head on. "I'm ... I'll be okay," she tried to assure him, but he wasn't convinced. Not wanting to push her, he remained silent as she stood and walked out of the storeroom and into the front of the building.

They'd been taken to the gas station, and she was all too happy to rummage through the touristy clothing rack near the register. She grabbed a Georgia Tech t-shirt and ripped the tags off before unhooking her red-stained bra and letting it drop as she slipped the shirt over her head. She could still smell the blood on her skin, but it was a start. She glanced at the nearby cooler cases, long ago emptied of their contents. She'd have to wait until they found some other source of water before she could scrub her skin. "Out, damn spot," she thought as she turned back to the storeroom.

* * *

><p>Daryl gathered up the guns and slipped the dead men's knives into his belt, holding his ribs as he went. The darkness would be lifting soon, and they needed to get to the trees. He found his crossbow just inside the door to the storeroom and winced as he slung it over his shoulder. Carol took the guns and a knife from him and they headed toward the exit. Two walkers were wandering around the parking lot, but there didn't seem to be a patrol nearby. They slipped out and skirted the now disabled car Daryl had driven into town.<p>

They both breathed a little easier when they got close enough to see the walkers weren't diseased. Knives swinging almost synchronously, they eliminated the threat and headed for the woods. The sound of an approaching patrol reached them just as they stepped onto the soft beds of pine needles. It wouldn't take long for those men to discover the scene at the gas station, so they risked moving faster over covering their tracks. In a matter of minutes, they were picking their way through thorny shrubs, the branches stabbing into their skin with each step, hoping nature's deterrent would prevent anyone following them.

Carol didn't mind the distraction of the scratches. It kept her from thinking about the past 24 hours. The roller coaster of emotions had pushed her to her limits, and she felt her thoughts seeping through the cracks of the walls she had built around them. As the sun began to lighten the sky, she watched Daryl's back heaving with labored breaths and marveled at his ability to trudge onward. He was almost certainly concussed and his ribs were bruised at the very least, and yet, he was almost losing her as he pressed forward. She remembered how much her own bruised ribs had hurt. How each breath had felt like a dagger below her heart. She made a mental note to check his ribs for cracks once they stopped. If they ever stopped. She was beginning to wonder if that moment would come when Daryl slowed his pace.

She startled when he spoke; neither of them had said a word since leaving the gas station. They'd simply fallen into their routine of easy silence. "Looks like a good place to rest," he said, pointing at a tree ahead. She never would have noticed the camouflaged hunting blind halfway up if he hadn't pointed it out. "If they're following us, they won't find us very easily." He walked ahead and found the makeshift rope ladder hanging from the blind. "Lemme check it first," he said, laying his crossbow against the tree trunk and putting his knife in his teeth as he started climbing.

Carol held her breath when he reached the top and disappeared inside. "All clear. We got lucky. There's some water and jerky up here, too" he said as he leaned out of the opening above the ladder. She exhaled and realized she hadn't let herself think about her thirst until that moment. Her mouth went even drier. Daryl started to climb back down for his crossbow but she waved him back. She threw it over her shoulder and started up the ladder. He needed to stop moving, and the sooner she was in the blind, the sooner she could soothe her throat and wash away some of the blood, dirt and sweat that made her skin itch with every tiny movement.

She pulled herself into the blind and took in the sight of the tight space. It wasn't much in the way of comfort, but to her it was a miracle. It was a space to rest, away from the hell she'd been living in the past couple of weeks. She pulled the rope ladder up into the blind and closed the flap over the entrance, shutting out the world.


	3. Swear Words

Lightning split the turbulent sky, the flash reflecting on her blood-drenched hands. She screamed his name, but the crash of thunder swallowed the sound before her voice could reach him. She took a step toward him and slipped. _Please not more blood_. The gruesome thought compounded her fear as she skidded toward the torn opening of the blind, reaching helplessly into the nothingness around her. Her fingers found no purchase, no handhold to stop her descent. With one last, desperate grasp toward him, she fell.

Her body lurched into consciousness, lungs gasping sharply and eyes flying open in panic. No blood. No storm. Only specks of dust drifting lazily through the streams of sunlight that found their way through the cracks in the walls. Carol's dreams had been coming in fits and starts all day, strobing through her mind and startling her awake. Her body ached for sleep, but she abandoned the effort. Maybe tomorrow, if she could. For now she'd settle for the quiet calm of his presence.

Daryl's steady breathing against her chest soothed her, slowing her own still rapid breaths until they matched his rhythm. He'd been out cold most of the day, only stirring when she woke him to check on his concussion. She knew she should wake him again. The sun had trekked across the sky and was quickly slipping below the horizon. They'd probably already stayed here longer than they should, but she wasn't ready. She needed more time, needed to feel safely cocooned in the tiny nook, her legs wrapped around his hips. The warm, gentle pressure of his weight against her. Far from her expected claustrophobia in the blind, she found tranquility in their entanglement.

The cramped space wasn't meant for overnight stays. With no space to lie down, she had insisted on propping herself into the corner so that he could lean back against her to rest. His ribs weren't broken, but the large purple bruises and myriad cuts marring his skin would be slightly less painful against her body than contorted against the splintered walls or floor. She was relieved when he hadn't put up much resistance. If she were being truthful, she'd have admitted that she craved the reassurance of his body against hers almost as much as she wanted to make him comfortable. But she kept that to herself. She had given Daryl her warmest smile and held it together until he went limp in her arms. Only then did she allow the tears to roll silently down her cheeks.

Carol winced as the replay of the previous night crossed her mind. She nuzzled her face into his hair and let her lips graze the top of his ear, careful not to wake him. Just one more minute of solace. Sixty seconds. And then she'd let go. She counted down the time in her head, her heart rate increasing as the numbers dwindled. Twenty... ten... zero.

"Daryl," she whispered, running her hands along his arms to rouse him. "It's time to move on."

* * *

><p>He'd woken a few moments earlier, her breath against his ear enticing him out of a deep sleep, but he hadn't opened his eyes. There was something in the way she clung to him. He couldn't put a finger on what, but something was off. A familiar, guilty feeling swept through him. He'd failed to protect her. Made her go through hell to save them both. And now she was suffering for it.<p>

His head throbbed lightly and he felt every bruise as he lifted himself off the floor. It had been a long time since he'd taken a beating this bad. He stopped his mind from wandering there and instead focused on her, watching as she silently filled a stray plastic bag with the remaining water bottles and stashed weapons in her belt.

Her non-stop motion of preparation in the small space was almost dizzying, so he propped himself in the corner and waited. She turned to hand him one of the guns, pausing when she noticed him leaning against the wall.

"Did you get lightheaded?" she asked, brow furrowed in concern.

He shook his head. "Just waitin' for you to slow down a minute."

She checked the safety and tucked the gun into the bag instead. "We need to move. How far you think we'll get tonight?"

"Could get to the cabin by mornin', long as weather holds and we get the moonlight," he answered and slung his crossbow across his shoulder. "They'll be glad to have you back. 'Specially Beth. I think she's been drivin' Maggie a bit crazy talkin' 'bout findin' everyone."

Carol double-checked the bag to avoid his gaze. "Yeah. It'll be good to see them, too. And Bob and Sasha. Who knows? Maybe they found some of the others by now," she said as she ducked toward the zippered opening of the blind.

Her lack of eye contact didn't go unnoticed, but he decided now wasn't the time to hash things out. The best thing they could do was create a little more distance between them and the night before, in more than one sense. He heaved himself after her and climbed down the rope ladder.

* * *

><p>Daryl stepped clear of yet another thicket of jagged brush. Behind him, a dagger-like thorn caught Carol's sleeve and easily tore through it to her skin. She swore loudly and he smiled to himself at the sound of those words coming from her lips. You wouldn't know it from looking at her, but he was fairly certain she could make a sailor blush if she put her mind to it.<p>

The sound of her voice made him realize just how hushed it had been as they made their way through the woods. He always liked that they could just be with each other, no pressure to maintain a conversation, but he also enjoyed the freedom they gave each other to say whatever was on their minds. And when she did, she'd usually end up cracking some joke at his expense.

He missed her little digs and suggestive comments tonight, much as they embarrassed him. It always gave him a bit of a thrill that she was daring enough to say those things, and that she understood the silent "Don't" that preceded his retort every time he told her to stop.

But she hadn't uttered more than a handful of words since they'd started walking, even when they stopped to rest and hydrate. That is, until the swearing began. Even the birds had taken notice of the tirade and begun to flutter off.

"You stuck?" Daryl asked, turning back toward the string of curse words emanating from behind him.

"Unless you mean like a pig, no," she grumbled as she pushed her way out of the thorns and checked her arm. It was bleeding, but not badly, her pride suffering the greater wound. When they'd rushed through similar bushes the night before, he'd be torn up, too. Tonight's slower pace meant he could make it through these thorny thickets with barely a mark, yet even following in his footsteps, she was covered with punctures and long scratches. "I used to like nature, until it tried to kill me with a thousand cuts."

"Stream's just ahead. We can follow that back to the cabin. No more slicin' and dicin' from here on out," he told her, nodding toward the sound of babbling water.

She sighed with relief, "Good. I can wash up a little. Take the sting out of some of these." Her hand unconsciously ran up her arm to her cheek, where she'd been struck the night before. That twinge of guilt pulsed in him again.

She plowed past him toward the water, dropping her bag onto some mossy rocks along the bank. She didn't hesitate in pulling her shirt off and had already kicked off her shoes and started unbuttoning her pants when Daryl whipped around as fast as he could, looking anywhere but at her.

He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another, taking advantage of the slowly brightening sky to check his bolts for cracks and weaknesses. Not long ago, she would have taken the opportunity to tease him in a heartbeat, but she seemed to have lost that urge. He was still dwelling on why a few minutes later when she emerged and ran her fingers through her dripping hair, wicking out the excess water. She dressed and climbed up the bank to Daryl. "Your turn. I'll watch," she told him. "For walkers," she quickly added when she realized what she had said.

The smile that had started pulling at the corners of his mouth stalled. For a second, he thought she was feeling more like herself again. He considered mentioning it, but turned away and headed toward the edge of the water, hoping the cool stream would bolster his courage to have the conversation he'd been avoiding. He needed her back, needed to get everything out in the open. At least get her talking again. He shed his clothes and waded in, letting the current soothe the ache of his wounds and distract him from the growing uneasy feeling her silence brought.

The sun had cleared the horizon by the time he climbed back up to her. Misty tendrils of vapor rose from the greenery around them as the temperature rose above the dew point, the promise of another sweltering day. She wiped her brow with the hand she'd been using to shield her eyes and pivoted to grab her bag, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. He steeled himself, not quite ready to hear the depth of disappointment in her voice, despite being certain she would deny any existed.

"What happened... I couldn't stand it. It shoulda been me provokin' 'em. I let you down and I'm sorry," he apologized, barely able to look at her with his head hung low, shame plainly written across his features.

Carol flinched at his expression. "You didn't let me down," she replied. "You did all you could and then some. Besides, you got the worst of it." She moved closer and threaded her fingers through his.

"No, I didn't," he answered. "What he tried to do... Beatin's one thing, but that."

She squeezed his hand. "I've been through worse, Daryl, before... I made it through that and this is no different. I'm fine," she said, attempting to reassure him. Her words were anything but a comfort.

He felt sick hearing that she'd suffered worse at her dead husband's hands than what he'd witnessed a few hours earlier. The thought of anyone hurting her, especially like that, brought a flush of heat to his face and an unintended razor's edge to his voice. "You ain't been actin' fine," he objected.

She took a moment and then answered in a carefully measured tone. "It's not because of anything you did or didn't do. Know that, okay? You and me... everything is good." She lightly squeezed his hand again and then dropped it, heading toward the bag.

He shook his head. He'd finally let his guard down completely, let her in, and now she was shutting him out. "S'you and me now, huh? Thought it was 'us'. Isn't that what you said yesterday… us?"

His words made her stop short. He felt his chest tighten with the recognition that he'd struck a nerve. _Us. _The brevity of the word belied the enormity of its significance. He thought saying it would convince her to open up, confide in him or be angry with him, ultimately remind her that she could trust him with anything. But her pause revealed that things weren't how he thought they were at all. Suddenly the word that had buoyed him the day before became a leaden weight on his shoulders.

She slowly turned toward him, the determination in her expression a sharp contrast to the pallor of her face.

"It was the smell," she said quietly. "The smell of his blood all over me, soaking into my skin. I told myself everything would be fine when you found me. That nothing else mattered, but I was wrong. That smell. It brought it all back." She swallowed hard before continuing.

"I killed them, Daryl. Karen and David. I was trying to keep everyone else safe, end their suffering. I did it."

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for an outburst, an admonition, anything to indicate his understanding of what she had done. What this meant.

He didn't blink. "I know. Rick told me. But it don't matter. I know why you did it. I know you."

She took a deep breath, searching for a way to make him understand. "Rick told you? Then you know he told me to stay away?" she asked.

"Yeah, but..."

The realization hit him harder than any of the physical blows he'd suffered the night before. The distance she'd put between them all night. The silence.

Daryl tamped down the anger creeping into his chest. "So that's it? You're just gonna leave?"

"Once we find the girls," she answered. "I promised Ryan. I can't leave them behind."

He shook his head, jaw tight. "But you'd leave the rest of us. Leave me?"

Her eyes reflected a silent assent. The rage that had been prickling low in his gut flashed up through his chest, instantly burning through the oxygen in his lungs. He struggled to regain his breath, fighting both the anger and the physical pain of his injured ribs. How could she just go? After all they'd been through together? She couldn't. She couldn't be just like Merle, leaving when the going got tough. She'd proven to him time and time again that he could count on her, and now she was ripping the rug out from under him. He picked up a rock and hurled it toward the stream.

Carol didn't budge. "You didn't see him, Daryl," she explained. "He won't accept what I did. Won't get past it. We can't live like that. Rick... won't."

He had to move. He couldn't think standing still, not with what she'd just thrown at him. He paced away a few steps and back again, his mind whirring as he tried to come up with something to fix this, to prove to her she was wrong. "We don't even know if he made it outta there," he argued, but she remained steadfast.

"I'll talk some sense into him. Make him see how things are. He'll listen to _reason_," he replied, his voice getting louder as his desperation grew.

The determined look on her face crumbled, leaving pained resignation in its wake. "He's made up his mind. But he needs you, Daryl, and you need him… all of them. They're your family and you deserve that. A family that sees you for who you are. Loves you for who you are. But with Rick... I'm not a part of that anymore."

She forced herself to push past the quiver growing in her voice. "I made the decision to do what I did and I'll pay the price for it, not you. I would never ask you to choose."

He turned on her so suddenly the old Carol would have jumped out of her skin. She managed to hold her ground, despite the tears beginning to sting at her eyes.

"So you're gonna make that choice for me?" he yelled. "Fuck that. You don't get to make decisions for me. _Neither does Rick._ I choose and there's no damn decision to make! They're my family, and you're..." his words hitched in his throat. He turned away and ruffled his hands through his hair, pacing again.

"Daryl, you're better off with..." she started, but he reeled on her again, his stormy eyes boring into hers.

"Don't," he warned her, his voice suddenly rumbling low. "Nobody gets to tell me who I love."

His words hung in the air for a moment before crashing over them. She faltered and the tears she'd been fighting overtook her and streaked down her face. Daryl closed the gap between them and roughly took her head in his hands, his touch softening as he looked down at her.

"Carol..." he trailed off and desperately searched her eyes for something, anything that would tell him he hadn't made a terrible mistake. That she wouldn't destroy him and leave him empty inside, barely better off than a walker. He'd known for a long time. It had always been there... intangible, unspoken. Enough. He never needed more than that. Until now.

"Carol, please," he begged. "Please… just…"

She found her bearings when she heard her name in his voice, the sound foreign and familiar all at once. "I love you, too," she confided softly. Her own voice lulled him with the warm sincerity he'd grown so accustomed to receiving from her since their days on the farm.

"Don't leave," he pleaded. He wrapped his arms around her as though trying to will the gesture to bind her to him permanently, ignoring the protest of his battered ribs as he pressed her against him.

She leaned into him and wrapped her own arms around his back. "I won't. I swear I won't."


	4. The Ripple Effect

_Wow... okay. If you're still with me here, well, I love you. 3 This update took over 8 months, but I haven't abandoned this fic. Far from it. I just needed to wait for the muse to help me get it right. Thanks for sticking with me! Extra thanks to Ravenesque for beta-ing and to LiddyM2113 for pre-pre-beta-ing a certain section of this._

* * *

><p>The walker crumpled instantly. Daryl pulled the bolt out of its head and reloaded the crossbow, Carol flanking out to his right and disappearing around the corner. They circled the cabin in opposite directions, meeting at the back door. The walker that now lay in a heap of its own gore on the front steps seemed to be the last of the small herd, but it was anyone's guess as to what, or whom, may be inside the structure. There should have been someone on watch, but the dead were the only ones greeting them when they arrived.<p>

He squinted up at her as she carefully scaled the four rickety stairs and tried to peer through the glass at the top of the door. She glanced back at him and shook her head. The heavy curtain across the window completely shrouded the view inside.

Daryl joined her on the landing and paused. He took a few quick breaths to ease the tension in his jaw and prepare for the worst. It was the reality of this new world that you would eventually put down those you love. A reality he knew all too well. Carol hadn't known Karen and David that well, but he knew she was particularly close to Beth, having mentored the girl in caring for the smallest Grimes. As much as he wanted to spare her this particular torment, the numbers were not on their side.

She grasped the knob and waited for his signal. When he bobbed his head, she threw the door inward and stepped back, letting him rush in first, then followed with her knife held high.

_Empty._

The larger main room and small back bedroom were abandoned. Relief mingled with apprehension as they looked around for a clue as to where the others had gone. It didn't take long to find. The kitchen table was loaded with a box of clothes, a small assortment of canned food, and a folded slip of paper tucked beneath them.

_Daryl,_

_Bob and Sasha saw a sign along the railroad tracks when they went looking for you. There's a place called Terminus offering shelter. The signs say it's a sanctuary for anybody who can get there. Maggie thinks Glenn would be looking for her there. Maybe some of the others saw signs, too, so we're going. Look for the tracks north of here. Head east once you get to them. See you there soon._

_Love,_

_Beth, Maggie, Sasha & Bob_

"Terminus? Ever hear of it?" Daryl asked after Carol looked up from reading the note aloud.

She shook her head no. "Sounds like some sort of old railroad facility. Offering sanctuary…." Her brow creased in concern. She couldn't help but be wary of strangers after the last few weeks, even if increased numbers usually meant increased safety.

"Could be legit," he offered, but his tone didn't reflect the optimism of the words.

"We've got to catch them. Stop them before they walk into something bad. Something like…."

She flinched and sparked into action, throwing the food into her bag as fast as she could. She reached for a can of kidney beans, but he put his hand on top of it, blocking her. "I wasn't s'posed to be gone overnight. If they left when they saw the sign…" He let go of the can and added, "They're a day ahead of us, at least. We ain't gonna catch 'em."

The worn chair creaked beneath her as Carol sank into it, her fingers trembling slightly as she ran them across her forehead. "What if it's like where we were?"

"They're smart. They won't just go walkin' into somethin' without checkin' it out first. Sasha… she'll keep 'em safe," he said. He knew from their tandem leadership on runs that Sasha was particularly cautious, and his faith in her instincts didn't waver. It could be a trap, but if so, she would likely recognize that before trouble could start.

"They'll be alright. We'll head out in the afternoon, catch the daylight for a change, but we ain't gonna get far with your ass draggin'. Get some sleep. I'll take watch." He gave her his best _don't argue_ look and she acquiesced, heaving herself wearily toward the bedroom. When the door closed behind her, he picked up the note and read through it again. _Terminus._ End of the line.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and the regret he'd felt about giving up on finding that bastard rose up right along with them. The prison was gone. Nothing could be done about that now but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to do everything he could from here on out to keep them all safe. To keep her safe. He balled up the paper and tossed it across the floor, watching as it tumbled along like the rocks he used to skip on Hershel's pond. His jaw clenched again and he headed outside, trying to ignore the expanding ripples.

* * *

><p>The bed was comfortable, more so than her mattress at the prison ever was. Even more than some of the nicer houses they'd squatted in during that first hard winter. Her hand slid unconsciously to her hip, temporarily worsening the dull, thudding pain of her pulse within the flesh. A minor shift of her leg and the thud ceased. She'd learned long ago how to best sleep with the various aches of injury, but an all too different ache was keeping her awake now. The cold metal grate of the theater seemed almost welcome compared to the grief and worry that plagued her now. Hershel. Lizzie. Mika.<p>

The girls could be out there somewhere. Out in _this_ world. Maybe they'd made it away from the prison with others who could watch out for them. Daryl hadn't found many people yet, so they must have scattered in all directions, but that was an advantage for the girls. She knew they weren't headed the same direction she had. At least there was that.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm brewing in her mind as her repositioning had calmed the pain of her body. Daryl's insistence that she stay with him drove away the worst of the visions when she closed her eyes, but after so many days sleeping in a small, enclosed space, she felt exposed with nothing to shield her from view. A soft bed in the bright light of day should have been a comfort, but the only comfort she found was in the knowledge he was nearby. Even that was tinged with the torment of scenarios she couldn't stop from flooding her thoughts.

Twenty minutes of staring at the ceiling, the patterns of the wood grain now indelible in her memory, and she found him sitting on the front porch, searching the woods through a rifle scope long ago separated from its mate.

"Any signs of life?" she asked.

"Just the squirrels," he answered. His eyes snapped to her and away just as fast. "And you."

Their circumstances weren't happy ones, but in this moment she was grateful. Corpses littered the ground around them, but here he was, next to her on this porch deep in the woods. The isolating hell she'd been forced to live in since the day she tried the car door and found it locked was behind her now. The odds had been stacked against them, yet somehow they'd found one another. Found a thread within each other to grab onto and come together. They'd made promises.

For the first time in months, she had a glimmer of hope.

"Whatta ya doin' outta bed, anyway?" he prodded.

She knew she'd be useless without rest, exposing them both to more danger than already lurked around every corner. "I can't get settled. It's too… open." She left off the parts about the ache in her heart for the others, and the fear of losing him once again and being left on her own.

He lowered the scope and eyed her, longer this time. "How long were you there?"

"I don't know. Two weeks, maybe," she replied, staring down at the weathered planks beneath her feet. "It was easier… before that."

A chill ran up her spine and she shuddered against it, tamping down the images of close calls from her time alone and walling them off, just like the rest of the things she'd need to deal with later. The thought flicked in her head that she may run out of space for the walled objects in her mind soon, but she pushed that away, too.

"None of that matters now," she said, focusing her attention back on him. She didn't want to remember her time alone on the road. "You found me. Again."

He nodded and she turned to go back inside when a different memory swept through her. One that made her pause in her tracks and welcome it to run freely without walls. The horror scene surrounding them faded for a brief instant and she felt like she could fully breathe again, like she could almost fathom the luxury of a settled mind. One at peace.

"You okay?" His voice blended into the recollection and she looked back over her shoulder at him, the same slight smile tugging at her mouth as the first time he'd asked that question on the darkened catwalk and she knew she hadn't dreamt him up after all.

"Thanks to you."

She opened the door and went inside.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks to him?<em>

The knob latched quietly into place and he couldn't hear her anymore. He imagined her walking softly across the room, quiet as the mouse his brother had once called her. But she was no mouse anymore. She'd saved him more than once in the last 48 hours. What had he done to earn her thanks? Failed her when she needed him most and still she didn't hesitate to relive her troubled past to save them both. She'd even decided to leave the group in a misguided attempt to do what she thought was best for him, all too keenly aware of the dangers lying in wait for someone on her own.

He grabbed his crossbow and paced across the porch, imagining the terrible things she must have endured before he found her. The things that were written on her face as she told him it was easier before that hellscape he'd found her in. His knuckles grew white with his grip on the bow, his need to keep her safe intensifying to an uncomfortable level with her out of his sight. He couldn't lose her again. He wouldn't.

The importance of keeping watch was not lost on him, yet he found himself heading toward the door. He needed to see her, to be sure she was still there. She'd given him her word and he trusted that, but the urge to be certain wasn't going away. Hell, anything could happen these days. The turn had proven that over and over again.

He felt the full weight of that truth when he twisted the knob and it resisted his grasp.

_No, no, no. Not again. NO._

The panic welled up before he could think and he wrenched the knob as hard as he could, flinging the door open easily this time and looking straight into her startled blue eyes as she stumbled backward. Nothing else was there. No living threat. No walkers. Only his terror reflected back at him until she shook it off and rushed past him, closing the door so they were both safely inside, away from any walkers that may have heard the slam of wood and brass against the wall of the cabin.

"Are you… what the hell happened?" He worked to catch his breath, fear fading to frustration while he searched for some explanation. She gave him no answer, only a mysterious expression he'd never seen her wear before. He continued to scan the room and she leaned back against the door, waiting patiently for his eyes to meet her own. He finally paused long enough to notice the hint of a blush in her cheeks. The sight of it melted his frustration again, this time leaving only confusion in its place.

"My fault, sorry. I was holding the knob when you tried it," she explained. "I didn't realize you were coming in."

Her answer did nothing to clear up the situation.

"Why?"

"I was considering whether or not to open it."

He stared at her and waited. The only response he had was another _Why?_ and he figured the look on his face was already asking that question. She dodged and threw it back at him.

"Why were you coming in?"

"To check on you," he answered.

She nodded thoughtfully and he felt suddenly sheepish, admitting he needed to see her after she'd left him only a minute earlier. He was overcome with the urge to bolt, to get back out on the porch and keep watch before her questions made him think too much about his motives, but she stood between him and that reprieve. He wasn't even sure why he felt the need to escape. He'd already admitted he loved her. Broken down in her arms and swore her name like an oath, begging her to stay with him. But there was something different going on now and he thought if she kept looking at him like that, she'd see all the terrible demons that had haunted him when they'd been torn apart. She'd witness his nightmares and his desperation to find her and realize how weak he was becoming just as she was showing such strength.

If she kept looking at him that way… _damn it, why was she looking at him that way?_ He couldn't tear his eyes away from hers. They locked into him, as though she already knew all his secrets and was just waiting for him to confess.

She took a step closer and he wanted to step back, but his feet were uncooperative and stayed riveted in place.

"I was trying to make up my mind because I wanted to ask you something," she explained.

_Fuck._ Maybe she really did know his secrets just from looking at him. And now she was going to ask him what? To let her leave? Tell him she was better off on her own? Smarter? Faster? For the second time in less than a day, he blinked slowly, methodically, taking a breath to prepare for words he didn't want to hear.

"It isn't fair of me to ask. It's selfish, really-"

"Say it," he interrupted. He couldn't stand waiting anymore. Better to tear the band-aid off in one painful yank. "Just say it."

"Okay." Her eyes softened and she took another step toward him. "At the theater, after the patrol left and it was just us and we… talked and… more. Do you remember?"

That's what she wanted to ask? If he remembered how she'd curled up against him like it was the most natural thing in the world? Kissed him and he'd responded without an ounce of restraint, like a teenager in the backseat of his parents' car at some panoramic make out spot? The lump in his throat made it difficult to speak and he decided nodding would be a better option. What would he say anyway? That he couldn't forget a single detail if he tried? That it was the first semi-conscious thought in his head when he was awoken by her breath against his ear in the blind? He hadn't even admitted that to himself.

He was still trying to puzzle out why she would ask him that when she stepped closer again, taking his crossbow from his hand and placing it gently on the table behind him.

"We don't know what's gonna happen out there." She looked up at him and laced her fingers through his. "So I wanted to ask you… if you could stay with me? Until I fall asleep? If maybe… you would…" She took a few measured breaths as she glanced down to where their hands were joined together and then back up at his eyes again. "I just want you close."

The doubts that plagued him dissipated with the question she left unspoken. It hung between them and he blinked back his disbelief, struggling to accept this was real. Carol was standing before him, looking at him _that way_, and now he finally understood the full meaning of it. He wasn't sure he knew how to be with her like that. To be fully with someone. Not in the casual, throwaway sense of his past encounters, but in the way he wanted to be with her. The only way he _could_ be with her. All he knew for certain was that he wanted to try. To let her see everything in him… his fears, his doubts. His love. And the way she looked at him now he knew one more thing. She would still love him on the other side of it.

He swallowed his nerves and squeezed her hand, following silently as she led him away from the door.

* * *

><p>He was dreaming. It was the only way to explain it. Her hands were splayed across his stomach, fingertips alternately gripping and relaxing against his skin as she moved on top of him.<p>

He couldn't stop watching her, eyes tightly closed, mouth gasping labored breaths with their rhythm. Sunlight streamed in through the window, highlighting the bruises coloring her hip and cheek, the punctures and scratches from thorns marring the smoothness of her skin, the bones beginning to angle too sharply from her body from missing so many meals. She was imperfect. And perfect. She was real and beautiful and understood him in a way that would have made him uneasy with anyone else.

She was his.

His gut tensed as his eyes followed the path of his hands, gliding upward along her sides, trying to convince himself she was really here with him, not the figment of his imagination he'd conjured so many times when he couldn't find her. It wasn't until he glanced up at her face again and saw her peering back down at him that he allowed himself to actually believe it. She held his gaze, speaking a thousand words with her deep blue eyes, and he shivered beneath the weight of their honesty.

He didn't deserve this. Didn't deserve her. How he'd come to be in this moment was a mystery he would never be able to solve, but she sighed his name and he couldn't think about how he'd gotten there anymore. All he could do was stare while she once again closed her eyes, tightening against him as she gave in to her desire. He'd never seen anything like it, the beauty of her expression as pleasure washed over her, the way her face softened afterward, so different from his past experiences. Her eyes fluttered open and the peace that filled them made his breath hitch. She continued to move as she leaned down and kissed him, letting her body slip along his, her tongue seeking his own. The sensations overtook him and he pulled her tightly to his chest as his body lurched beneath hers, bringing him release.

He struggled to breathe, holding her so firmly, but he couldn't loosen his grasp. Not yet. He knew this wasn't a world where they could linger in some sort of storybook afterglow he'd seen in movies, limbs tangled, lazily running fingers and mouths over each other for hours as they drifted in and out of sleep. A world like that had never existed for either one of them. It likely never would, but he wanted to believe it could. Believe that he could have that someday. With her.

Her lips found his again and the hope continued to spark, and then she pulled away, smiling at him and running a hand along his stubbled jaw. He felt like he should say something, but he couldn't find the right words for what he was feeling. To even let himself feel this much at all… it was like exploring a new part of the forest, nervous uncertainty tempered by a strange, calming beauty. And the things written on her face as she gazed down at him… sharply contrasting the things written there earlier. What did she tell him then? That none of it mattered now?

"You were wrong," he finally managed. "What you said earlier."

Her brow crinkled, but the smile never left her face. "What do you mean?"

"Everything we've been through, even before…" he dared to gently touch the healing gash on her cheek, trying not to think of how many times that cheek was struck during her marriage. "It matters."

Her smile evaporated and she shook her head. "Daryl, I can't think about that…."

"I don't know what else you went through out there and you don't have to tell me. You said yourself that we came back from the bad things and made them good again. We can still do that. We will. But all of it, even the worst of it… it brought us here. It matters."

She let out the breath she'd been holding as he spoke and closed her eyes, lowering her head into the crook of his neck. "It matters," she agreed with a whisper. He pulled her tight against his side and they lay in silence for a few minutes, her fingers tracing his collarbone, his running along the goosebumps forming on her arm. When she stifled a yawn, he realized just how exhausted they both were, and just how vulnerable they'd be if anyone stumbled across them.

"We should get dressed," he said, hesitantly pulling his hand away from her arm.

"Yeah," she agreed, lifting herself up. They weren't even fully untangled and he was already missing the warmth of her against him. Maybe she felt the same deprivation, or maybe some other need drove her, but she stopped and cupped his jaw, drawing his forehead against hers for a few seconds before hoisting herself off him. They cleaned up and dressed, and he let himself steal one last look as she lay back down on the bed and finally succumbed to the rest she so desperately needed.

He grabbed his crossbow from the table and walked onto the porch again, passing the rest of the morning replaying the images of their encounter over and over in his mind. He tried to ignore it, to focus on the task at hand, but every whisper of a breeze through the leaves reminded him of the low murmurs that had escaped her and he was right back in the moment.

He was relieved when his stomach rumbled, the sun directly overhead and beating down with an intensity that made everything still beneath it, the wildlife seeking shade and moving only out of necessity. Now was probably as good a time as any to wake her and share a quick meal before they headed toward Terminus.

He hadn't cracked the door open an inch when a flock of birds raced noisily across the sky overhead, defying the punishing heat for fear of some worse fate. He raised the scope just in time to catch the movement in the trees past the stream and his hunger was forgotten with the scene unfolding in the lens.

He dropped the scope and reached her in seconds.


	5. Numbers Game

Carol struggled to clear the fog in her brain. Ed was shaking her shoulders and she instinctively braced for the fist coming next. The unexpected caress of a calloused hand on her cheek woke her faster than any blow could. Daryl's features sharpened into view and she smiled up at him for only a second before it registered. _Fear._ She was instantly fully awake.

"We gotta go. The window… now!" he whispered urgently. She bolted out of bed as he lowered the bag of supplies and his crossbow, then himself, to the ground below. She followed feet-first, thankful the drop was only a few feet as he helped soften her landing. They ran into the trees and didn't look back as the word echoed out behind them, over and over.

_Claimed._

Branches lashed at her limbs. Rocks grabbed at her feet. She hit the ground before she even knew she'd tripped, landing on pine needles and brushy weeds. He helped her clamber back to her feet, her lungs on fire with the effort, but she wouldn't be the reason they were caught by whoever had put that look on his face. She wouldn't have anyone else's blood on her hands.

The spasms of muscle cramps were teasing at her calves when they finally spotted the tracks a few minutes later. Carol collapsed beside the rails and inhaled deeply until the burning in her lungs faded and her legs stopped shaking. A quick glance at Daryl reminded her she'd had it easy. He was on his knees, doubled over with one hand on his ribs and the other tightly clenched the metal rail, fighting the retching of his stomach as it tried to rid itself of the little amount of food it contained.

She dug through the bag next to him and waited until his hand relaxed and the color began to return to his face. "Did you know them?" she asked, handing him a half-empty bottle of water. He managed a sip and then looked back toward where they'd come from, shaking his head.

"What was it? What did you see?"

"We were followed. Dunno how, but there was two of 'em," he explained through hitching breaths. "Had the same gear, had to be the same bunch."

Her brow creased with the questions bubbling up in her brain. Two men could have been ambushed, but Daryl had chosen flight over fight. He'd shown such desperation to escape he'd nearly killed himself in the process.

He caught her expression and shook his head, finally starting to take more measured breaths.

"There was another group. A lot of 'em. They just up and killed one of them guys. No warnin'."

Carol gave a quick nod of understanding. It seemed like only the worst of the worst were surviving these days. Still, she wasn't sorry to hear one of their pursuers had been eliminated. She took the water bottle from him and helped him to his feet.

"Other one's on his knees, beggin'. Pointed to the cabin," Daryl added. "S'all I needed to see." He bent toward the gravel next to the railroad ties, brushing it smooth with his fingers. "We gotta go. Cover our tracks this time and head toward Ter…." He squeezed his eyes closed and let his head drop to his chest just as a handful of gravel fell from his fingers into the dust.

"Daryl?"

Panic propelled her into action, lifting his chin to check his eyes, but they flicked open and she paused in her confusion. Instead of dilated pupils or the pain of injury she expected, they reflected defeat.

"Beth's note," he said. "Don't need to track us. They know right where we're goin'. Us and everyone else."

Carol blinked slowly, mind swirling. Their family was headed toward Terminus. If they had been slowed or turned around by obstacles, they'd be sitting ducks when these guys caught up to them, unaware of how much trouble they were in. Flight was taken off the table, leaving them only with fight. They had to do something, but the numbers were impossible. Two of them against a large group? A group vicious enough to kill first and ask questions later? A group who had the upper hand with the knowledge of where they were heading and were certain to give chase?

The idea clicked into place.

"Yes, they do," she said, her face set in fierce determination.

* * *

><p>He watched her count them out. <em>Nine<em>.

Nine bullets, eight bolts, two knives, and one plan that was either completely batshit crazy or fucking brilliant. Carol moved two bullets from one clip to the other, evening out the pistols a bit. Daryl shook his head and tapped his crossbow, trying to silently convince her that she needed more ammo than he did. She compromised, moving one bullet back to hers, and he could see she wouldn't budge after that. He took the pistol she offered, checked the safety and slipped it into his waistband.

The low snap of a twig behind them made him whip his head around. A thicket about 200 yards back rustled almost imperceptibly and he felt relief and alarm compete for control of his heart rate. Either the exhaustion of travelling for another half-day was making him hallucinate, or they were closing in.

Following the tracks had cut their travel time significantly, despite stopping long enough to stage a run-in with walkers and leaving plenty of evidence they'd changed direction and run into the woods. Now that they'd led them here, it was time to get out of sight.

Daryl tugged at her sleeve and they stayed low, crouching as they made their way from the trees and slipped between what remained of the battered wooden walls of an old utility shed. They'd gone nearly full circle, but now they were on the north side of town instead of the west, and he looked to her for guidance. He'd navigated them here, but she knew the layout of this town, had studied the blocks from overhead and made her way through the buildings unnoticed. She stared toward the far end of the dilapidated school across the way, watching for movement. If a patrol didn't pass soon, the whole thing would be over before it started, but she'd been confident about their frequency at the edges of town. His eyes shifted to the tree line, then back to her face, ghostly pale against the late evening light. Her mouth was drawn tight, breathing a little more rapid than it should have been, and he cursed himself in his head.

Returning to this place was an act of desperation, and one he was regretting more and more with each passing second. It made sense when she'd explained it, but he never should have let her convince him to bring her back here. Not to this place. If they'd continued on toward Terminus, maybe they would have found people. Some sort of safety in numbers. Instead they were here again, facing a new torment piled on top of old ones.

He rested a hand on her forearm, feeling the subtle flinch beneath it. Her eyes stayed riveted on the school, jaw held tight, but she allowed her fingers to brush lightly across his before giving his hand a sudden, hard squeeze.

"Now," she whispered.

The cracked asphalt felt a mile long as they sprinted across the old basketball courts. No cover. Nothing but wide open space. They were halfway across… twenty yards… ten…. He rounded the corner just as the muffled yelp hit his ears. An arrow cartwheeled across the grass in front of him and he grabbed her arm, yanking her behind the wall just as another sailed through the space where her neck had been a fraction of a second earlier.

She slipped from his grip and stumbled, landing hard on the grass and suppressing another cry of pain. His fingers were slick and red. As red as her sleeve. As red as the flesh now exposed beneath it. He wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her to her feet, terrified that she'd been hit more than once.

"Just a graze," she panted. "Don't stop!"

He kept a hand at her elbow as they scampered along the wall, not hesitating until they reached a cluster of houses and turned another corner out of sight. She paused and looked around slowly, getting her bearings, then ducked under the porch of the third house in. Seconds later she slid through a broken window into the basement and he followed.

The setting sun barely illuminated the three bodies that lay rotting in the corner, knife wounds in their heads courtesy of one of Carol's past visits. Gruff voices carried through the street and Daryl and Carol tucked themselves into the tiny gap between the furnace and the stone wall, dragging the corpses in front of them to camouflage the opening. If someone checked thoroughly enough, they'd be seen, but with their new friends giving cover, maybe they'd pass for just two more dead.

Footsteps echoed overhead, sweeping from room to room. He could feel Carol breathing behind him, quick and shallow, silent in her pain. He tried to shift to face her, but the space was too tight. The only comfort he could give her was his hand, sticky with her blood. He was about to reach back when the basement door swung open on creaky hinges above them, casting a dim light around the dingy space.

The heavy thud of a boot hit the top stair, scattering dirt and dust that clung to the sweat on his skin. He braced himself, slowing his breathing, waiting for the next thud to rain down more grime on their heads. The hard rubber sole hit the next plank and Daryl laid out his strategy in his head. Silence was imperative. Getting his crossbow loaded and aimed without drawing attention was impossible. He carefully slipped his knife from its sheath, feeling Carol move behind him in a similar fashion.

_Thud._ The seconds ticked away and each one made his nerves crackle. _Why couldn't this guy just get a move on already? _Daryl spotted the leather of the boot through the open back of the stairs. One more inch and he'd hear that god-awful thud again, but all he heard was screaming as the pops and cracks of rapid gunfire erupted outside. The boots retreated at full speed back up the stairs, dirt showering down on them like confetti celebrating their victory of survival. He listened as an all-out war began above their heads while they remained tucked away unnoticed, finally letting himself believe that maybe this plan was going to work after all.

He sheathed his knife and reached behind him, expecting to feel Carol's warm hand take his, but he felt something cold and hard instead. She pressed the long, narrow object into his palm, closing his fingers around it. Her voice, soft and tinged with what he swore was almost amusement, barely graced his ear above the din from overhead.

"I got you a present."

He pulled his hand back and recognized the arrow that had deflected off her arm into the grass. She must have somehow tucked it away when she fell.

Here they were, sitting in the middle of a giant trap of a town, caught in a game of cat and mouse. And damned if that once-mouse hadn't become the cat after all. He couldn't help but smile to himself as he took stock.

Nine bullets, nine bolts, nine lives.

* * *

><p>The cold air set her shivering as they snuck out the back door of the house. Night had fallen, and though the blood no longer flowed from her arm, Carol had already lost enough to make her lightheaded and chilled to the bone.<p>

Bodies filled the street around them. Men from the town. Men from elsewhere. They stopped long enough to grab a few more weapons, some knives and small guns they could carry easily, a semi-automatic machine gun she slung across her back. The chaos had died down a few hours ago, but they still needed to be prepared. Even with sizeable numbers on both sides, it looked as though the townies had won in the end, likely holed up and regrouping at the armory. Carol and Daryl needed to stay out of sight and get to the safety of the theater, assess the damage in the light of day, figure their odds.

She leaned unsteadily against a brick wall while Daryl took out another walker. There were plenty of fresh ones roaming, and zero patrols. Apparently their plan had made a significant impact. He sheathed the knife and lifted her good arm over his shoulder again as they picked their way along the streets, ducking into blind alleys, keeping to the sheltered sides of the buildings as they made their way across town. He turned right and she stopped him, nodding across the street instead.

"The clinic," she instructed. "There are still some supplies in there. I need to clean this."

He turned, guiding her across the street and into the wood-framed building. He stopped just inside the door, uncertain where to go now that they were in complete darkness. She was unnerved, too, but pushed forward by memory, hoping against hope she didn't run into a walker as she made her way around the counter toward the exam rooms.

She found the knob she was looking for and turned it quietly, slowly pushing the door open. Daryl slipped into the room behind her and she shuffled toward the cabinets on the far wall, running smack into a solid chest as strong arms clutched her own and held her still.

"Stop right there!" a voice yelled as a painfully bright light blinded her. With every bit of remaining strength she had, she struggled against those arms, but the burly redhead held her tighter and she went nowhere, managing only to tear open her wound against his grip. She thrashed through the pain, but couldn't reach a weapon, couldn't even make herself cry out for Daryl's help as the walls in her mind crumbled and it all came back. The crushing weight on top of her, hitting her until she slit his throat and soaked in the blood that flowed from him. The slaughter of that family, the ground turning red beneath them as they were ripped apart, all while these men stood over them laughing. Karen and David, slowly choking on their own blood until she ended their misery with her knife. Everything she'd survived and pushed through for months came crashing into her and she stilled beneath it, trapped and unable to think or speak or fight. Trapped and at the mercy of the merciless.

She spotted Daryl jumping toward the man, about to strike when a familiar voice shouted out, halting him before his fist landed against the big man's jaw.

"Holy shit!"

The redhead looked back toward the voice as another flashlight clicked on and shined toward the man who'd spoken.

Carol shook her head in disbelief. It was self-preservation… her brain making up some outlandish scenario to block out the agony she was certain was about to befall them, the nightmare that would take Daryl's life and her own. It couldn't be real. It couldn't, but the strong arms released her and she fell into the familiar ones instead. All her pain was forgotten as he held onto her and laughed with pure joy, rocking her gently until she knew he was truly there and not her mind's attempt to protect her in her final moments. She sobbed into his shoulder, hearing Daryl shuffle behind her and slap him on the back.

"Glenn! Jesus, I can't believe it's you."


End file.
